Captive by Blood
by made2suffer
Summary: Imagine being held hostage by your own father for revenge on something you didn't mean to do. Can be about any BTR guy you want. First fic! Oneshot.


_My dad slams the door with a deafening bang as he enters our house._

_ "Daddy?" I question. I hear him stomp towards me, and I cower in the corner. He has never acted like this before. He storms into the living room, and when he sees me, he roars with anger. His breath is tainted with the scent of alcohol, and even at six, I know to be afraid. Before I can move to defend myself, my dad slaps me in the face, leaving a large red mark and a searing pain. Then, he takes out his knife._

I jolt awake, sweaty and tangled in my sheets. I glance at the clock, warily. It was only three-fifteen in the morning, leaving me with three hours of nightmares before morning. Ever since I was told the news about my father breaking out of jail, I haven't been getting any sleep. I will just barely doze off, only to be awoken by another nightmare. They're always about the first night that my dad abused me. Now that he has broken out of jail, he is probably looking for me. I know he will find me, and when he does, I doubt I will escape again.

I wake up to the sound of my cousin Caden's cries. Looking at the clock, I'm surprised that I slept through four hours without any nightmares. I hoist myself out of bed and grab my sports bag to go to the rink. It's the one place where I can relax and forget about my dad. I bound down the stairs and into the kitchen for breakfast, still effervescent from my four straight hours of sleep. I pour myself a bowl of cereal and sit by my aunt Carrie, my mom's sister. My mom died during my birth, and my dad abused me, so I live with her and my cousin. After a quick breakfast, I go outside, hop on my bike, and head to the rink.

I ride down the road that leads to the pool, which is unusually empty, except for a single dark car with tinted windows. It seems to be driving strangely slow, and I feel I chill go down my spine. I pedal my bike faster, determined to get to the rink and away from the strange car. Suddenly, the car screeches to a stop, and I hear footsteps come up behind me. Before I can scream for help, a rag covers my mouth, and as I inhale a sickly sweet smell, everything goes black.

I wake up in a cold, dark closet. The walls are covered in mold and mildew that drips down onto the cement floor, forming a repulsive puddle. I cringe away in disgust. Suddenly, I am hit with a wave of panic. _Where am I? _I wonder. _Who took me here? _Then it hits me. I have been kidnapped by my dad. I'm being held captive by my own blood. Closing my eyes, I pinch myself, to awake from this nightmare, only to find that this time, it's reality.

I startle as the door is flung open. My dad walks in, his hands balled up in fists, and murder in his eyes. As he walks closer, I back up into a corner, instinctively raising my arms to protect my face.

"Show your face," he sneers, a menacing grin on his face. "I want to see the pain in your eyes as I beat you." I glare at him as I lower my hands with trembling arms. Then he slaps me across my face. It hurts even more than it used to. "You filthy worthless piece of garbage!" he yells. "If you had never been born, your mom would still be alive!" None of his insults had ever hurt more than this one. The salty tears streaming down my face sting my raw skin. My father slaps me one more time before leaving and slamming the door closed, and leaving me alone once again.

Every day, after he beats me, my dad leaves me a piece of moldy bread and a paper cup of tap water. Even after picking around the mold on the bread, and taking only a sip of water each hour to make it last, I can feel myself getting weak. I can count each of my ribs, and I'm glad that there isn't a mirror in here, because I can't even imagine how terrible my face looks. Above me one of the rusty pipes is leaking gross water. As it hits the cement, it makes an ominous dripping noise that is driving me insane. I don't know how much longer I can last in here. I've always been claustrophobic, and now I feel the walls closing in on me. Maybe I should try to escape. There has to be a way out.

The next day before my dad comes down to beat me, I dislodge a rusty pipe from the ceiling. Later, when the door opens with a loud screech, I come at my dad with the pipe and attempt to knock him out. With an outraged snarl, before I can even hit him, he rips the pipe out of my hands easily and proceeds to beat me with it. I feel it bash into my head a couple times before everything goes black.

I wake up a couple of days later with no memory of what happened. I raise my hand up to my throbbing head to find my hair clotted with blood. Suddenly, it all comes back to me. My failed escape attempt and being knocked out with the pipe. _How could I have been so stupid? _I think to myself. _I could barely lift the pipe, I'm so weak, how did I think I could have knocked him out?_ I feel dizzy, from blood loss, dehydration and malnutrition. He hasn't brought me food since the incident. I crawl under the drip, and catch the water with my tongue. It takes me an hour to just get a mouthful, so I crawl over to the corner and sink down to the ground, feeling more worthless than ever.

I wonder why I haven't been found. Maybe they just aren't looking for me. It's not like anyone cares about me anyway. Who could blame them, though? I was a murderer from the moment I was born, having killed my mother. I begin to look forward to my beatings. The physical pain distracts me from the pain in my heart.

I can feel my body slowing down, and I realize that this might be my last day. Oddly, I'm grateful. Death would be better than living like this. My last hours are spent watching the walls drip, until finally, with a shudder, I take my last breath.


End file.
